


From the Ashes

by happy_lettuce_leaf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy Angst, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, POV Draco Malfoy, Pre-Slash, Teacher Draco Malfoy, dont blame me, idk how to tag, poor Draco Malfoy, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy_lettuce_leaf/pseuds/happy_lettuce_leaf
Summary: If Draco were to be honest, he had no clue how he’d gotten here. Here, sitting next to a certain Harry Potter.If Draco were to be honest, if he could go back in time, he could change something. Kill a butterfly, pick a leaf off of a tree, stomp on a mound of dirt or some shit. Because he did not want to be here, in this train car with nothing to do but stare awkwardly out the window and avoid Harry’s penetrating gaze.or:Harry and Draco are both going back to hogwarts to teach, and Draco works through some shit and is very fucked up about the war. This is pre-slash, and strangely is mostly Draco Angst.yay
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 76





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Imma be honest
> 
> I've never written either a HP fic before, or a pre slash fic before, and have no idea how to fucking tag it. so pardon me, you may be searching for some kinky shit but instead you get this wreck of a fic. Lo Siento fam. 
> 
> trigger warning for toxic family members, panic attacks, and mentions of self harm. i love making my boiz hurt. 
> 
> and, as always, theres a fuck ton of cussing. should really be expected by now. 
> 
> and yes, i know the title is v cliche, i am aware.

If Draco were to be honest, he had no clue how he’d gotten here. Here, sitting next to a certain Harry Potter. 

If Draco were to be honest, if he could go back in time, he could change something. Kill a butterfly, pick a leaf off of a tree, stomp on a mound of dirt or some shit. Because he did not want to be here, in this train car with nothing to do but stare awkwardly out the window and avoid Harry’s penetrating gaze. Harry was staring at him, making him squirm and making him wait, pushing all of the awkwardness and uncertainty onto Draco, piling it on him in shovels, slathering the thick air all over Draco’s face, the dirt kept piling, Draoc kept thinking, trying to breathe, getting buried in his grave- 

No, wait. He was getting carried away. His therapist said he did that a lot, that he should move away from it. He used metaphors to expand situations out of proportion as a defense tactic- make something into a mess before it has the chance to become a mess. Blow up a relationship before it has a chance to blow up on its own. Dan the therapist said he needed to recognise when his own anxiety brought things out of proportion, that way he didn’t act on the whim of anxiety. 

He wasn’t explaining this right, like Dan did. Dan always explained things well, winding up Draco’s tangled thoughts like a ball of yarn, giving everything Draco was feeling an explanation. It all made shocking sense, every experience that related to every thought that he had, everything his dad said to him-

Draco sighed and met Harry’s gaze hesitantly. Dan said he was bad at confrontation, and he agreed. Oddly, his challenge of the week was to confront one of the things he was most stressed about. 

Harry didn’t stop glaring, but it’s not like Draco could blame him.

No, wait. If Draco were to go back in time, he would redo it all. Redo the very moment he met Harry, redo his entire Hogwarts education and exchange it for something better. Better than this uncomfortable seat and Harry’s glare and the pine trees out the window. He felt like he should say something, but he didn’t know what. He didn’t know how. He didn’t really know anything. 

Long ago, before McGonagall had forced Draco to get himself a therapist, Draco was obsessed with the idea of tangible pain. His dad had told him everything was all in his head. He needed to get over it, because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real. So he made it real, made it tangible when he brought a silver blade to his pale, pale, pale skin. 

It was there. It wasn’t in his head anymore. It was physical, therefore it was real, and everything he was thinking was real too. In a fucked up mantra of self hatred and anxiety, he imagined a bridge from his mind to his body, making a pathway for physical pain. For proof that these problems did, in fact, exist. Maybe then his father would take him seriously and maybe then everything would be out in the open. 

His father, strangely, never noticed, but McGonagall did. And somehow, somehow, even though he knew he was fucked up and even though he needed help, he hated her for forcing him to deal with it. He hated her for bringing everything out in the open, hated the way that his father looked at him (with disgust), and hated the way his mother didn’t look at him at all. Everything was out in the open, but he didn’t feel satisfied. He just felt numb, messy, and confused. 

Dan helped him, obviously. And is still helping him. He somehow, somehow, somehow, unwinded Draco’s past and made him see how messed up his family and his mind was. He showed Draco scans of brains, showed him that depression was real, that anxiety was real, showed him the proof, showed him the physical proof. After that particular session, Draco cried for hours, but never picked up the blade again. 

Dan also hated his father with a burning passion. He couldn’t really blame him; Dan tried to hide it and for the most part he succeeded. He refuted the idea of tangible pain and somehow, somehow, somehow, convinced Draco that his pain existed, that it was real, and that it was definitely not all in his head. He was gentle and accepted whatever Draco told him, when Draco came out, when he admitted to self harm, when he cried hysterically all session, all he did was put an old, wrinkled hand on Draco’s shoulder and accepted that all Draco really needed was someone there for him. 

He’s getting carried away again. He does that a lot. 

“Why are you here?” Harry asked him, shocking Draco out of his reverie and making him come back to reality with a sharp focus. Suddenly, every thought Draco had was panicked and rushed and half formed, his hands were shaking, his hands were shaking, his hands were shaking-

“All of the other cars were full,” he said, but it was not his voice. This voice came from a being outside of him, the panic was subsiding, he was numb all over-

He was disassociating. That was a new term for him, when one simply removed their mind from their body in order to avoid panic. It felt like Draco was a stranger and his body acted without his permission. It was a state of numbness, of complete cold. Dan explained it to him, like Dan always did. Gentle and warm. He taught Draco to feel the ground under him, to feel all of the bumps in the wall next to him, and drag himself back to reality. Draco was very Fucked Up. 

He felt the seat under him, felt the air enter his nostrils, felt his socks and his shoes and the moving train underneath him, and breathed. 

He felt the ground, the uncomfortable seat, and Harry’s gaze. 

The Harry in question was looking at him strangely, with something close to curiosity in his eyes. 

“No, that isn’t what I mean. Why are you here? I mean, why? On this train, on this car, how did every moment in your life lead you to this compartment?” 

Draco laughed internally. God, what a question. The ministry had pardoned him, he (apparently) was clean in the eyes of God. Everything had been worked out, and yes, while he would have been in the teachers and staff compartment of the train, he had walked part and it and there wasn’t a seat for him. 

He considered briefly that they had miscounted. It was possible that they had simply missed him on their list, that they didn’t have enough seats, that they didn’t like how young he was, that he was only 18. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they didn’t want him there because of everything that had happened with him and Voldemort. He wondered why Harry didn’t have a chair. He wondered if he should have tried to sit in the bathroom the entire time. He wondered if he should have tried to get on some students on his side. Maybe he should have socialized. He wasn’t cut out for this right now. He wasn’t ready for this, to face everyone, to face the school that he once hated, that he once loved. 

Fuck. Shit. Son of a Bitch. He was so, so, so underprepared. Unqualified. Why did McGonagall even hire him? He was way too fucked to be dealing with children.

Wait, no. Dan told him not to think like that. He was fine. Good, even. He could do this. 

“I’m teaching. Um- I’m teaching. Yeah. Potions. I’m teaching Potions,” he said, stumbling over words and tripping over himself. Harry just stared, his eyes no longer glaring but distant and far away.

“Why- w- w- w- why are you here?” and oh God, Lord Jesus Christ, holy fucking shit holy fucking shit, holy fucking shit-

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry said, and Draco was really stupid, wasn’t he? Of course Harry Fucking Potter was teacing Defense Against the Dark Arts. Of- fucking- course. 

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. If Jesus Christ shit everything bad that had ever happened in the world, this situation would be smothered in shit. They’d all be drowning in shit. 

What the hell was Draco thinking? He needed to fucking respond, like normal human beings due. But really. He could practically taste the shit. 

“Yeah, of course,” he said, pretty freaking smoothly compared to his other half formed sentences and stutters. 

“I really want to think you’ve changed,” Harry said, his voice cold and stern and everything Draco never wanted to hear from him. 

“I-I have. I think. I think I have. Dan says- My therapist says so. He says I’ve changed. I don’t know-know if I believe it. I-I-I-I can’t tell,” Draco said, his voice mimicking one of a dying walrus. 

Harry’s eyebrows scrunched together, like he was confused, he was confused and Drace was even more confused, didn’t know what to say, what to think, the dirt, his grave, he was dying-

No, stop. Breathe. Toxic thoughts. Fuck thinking. Fuck his brain. He could do this. He waited patiently for a response, any indicator that Harry didn’t hate or did hate him. Draco wasn’t sure which one he wanted more. For Harry to start screaming and never stop, or for him to stop staring, to make small talk and pretend. Instead, it was this in between, and he wished Harry would say something, anything.

Harry didn’t. Instead, he was silent, and Draco was uncomfortable. 

And finally, finally, finally, Harry spoke.

“Okay.” and really? All of this anticipation for one freaking word? Draco looked out the window again, and so did Harry, and suddenly, Draco couldn’t be silent anymore, 

“Look, Harry, I’m sorry I-I-I-I- fucked up. A lot. And I know, you probably don’t want an apology from me, but fuck- I- I- I’m trying. I fucking swear it. I swear on my life, on all of Jesus’ shit, I swear it,” Draco said, his gaze everywhere, wild, everywhere, his hands shaking and his body trembling, nervous tension wracking him. Harry, taking one look at Draco, shifted his weight. His eyes softened, and so did his expression.

“I know you had other things going on. I mean, fuck. Voldemort was terrifying. I would have done what you did. I mean, I would have been just as afraid. We all like to judge everyone else even if we would have made the same choice. And your family… they aren’t recovering well, are they?” 

Draco shook his head and avoided Harry’s gaze for what felt like the millionth time in the past five minutes.

“See? Voldemort was manipulative, and you, by chance, were just one of those people. I think you’ve changed, even if you don’t think so yourself,” Harry said, and Draco could feel the car underneath him, could feel the air around him, could feel himself breathing. 

“Why?” Draco felt himself asking. 

“Why what?” 

“Why do you think I’ve changed?” Draco said, his voice a little more confident than it was before. Harry seemed to notice this and smiled at Draco, and suddenly, suddenly, Draco's stomach did a nice disco dance of the 70’s, because Harry had never smiled at him like that before. Draco tried to return it, but his mouth felt like it was glued shut and his vocal chords were tied in knots. 

“The way you said it. The way you said you changed. It wasn’t what I was expecting,” Harry said, and then Draco could smile, he was smiling, and Dan would be really fucking proud of him, wouldn’t he?

  
  


**********

Draco’s footsteps echoed down the dark corridors. He made his way to the front table, prepared to be seated before the students got there. 

McGonagall was already standing at her podium, reading over her speech, Hagrid was at the far end, where he was mindlessly flipping through the textbook needed for his class this semester, Professor Binns, who he’d only had last year, and.. Was the Neville? Neville Longbottom? Yes, he did remember reading about that in the Hogwarts newsletter McGonagall sent out to the staff. 

There was also Flitwick with Charms and Sinistra, who taught astronomy. He was just starting to wonder where Harry was when said boy hesitantly opened the door and closed it softly behind him. Draco supposed he had a lot of practice opening and closing that door when he was late on the first day. 

Draco sighed, looking at the array of empty seats. The new Divination, Arithmancy, and muggle studies teachers were not here yet, which left a lot of empty seats for Harry to choose from. However, he absolutely had to pick the one next to Draco, immediately making him uncomfortable. 

And why, why, why. He was already drowning in Jesus’ shit. 

But fuck. Was he supposed to make conversation? Was he supposed to say something? Ake small talk like a normal fucking person? He could come up with a question about the schedule or something.

“I- I like your tattoos,” Harry said weakly, and Draco looked down at his arms, looked at his sleeve riding up. Right, his tattoos. He had gotten them from Luna, long sleeves of black and white flowers with red hints, dripping off of the flowers like blood. They shifted and moved with his emotions, dancing and blowing in the wind. He pulled him sleeve up hesitantly.

“Yeah. I got them a few days after… a few days after… after Voldemort happened. Luna does them,” he said, forcing the words up his chest and through his throat. Since when was it this hard to talk? 

“She did one of mine,” Harry said, gesturing to his shoulder, where he rolled up one of his sleeves. It was a Doe, jumping around and leaping in place. Draco watched it with a small smile. That was Lilly’s Patronous. And Snape’s.

That name put a vile taste in his mouth, and he suddenly had an urge to vomit. He pushed it down. 

“Yes, it was Snape’s. But it was also my mother’s, and I want to put a good spin on it, ya’know?” Draco nodded.

Just then, a tall woman walked through the door, her easily five inch heels clicked harshly on the stone floor. Her expression was bright, her face sharp and her eyes even sharper. Everything about her was angled, the way she walked, carefully paced, and how her dark face was shaped, high cheekbones and prominent lips. In the wake of her black hair and clicking heels, a shorter, much shyer girl followed in her place, hesitantly stepping quietly and quickly. 

“Well hello, Profesor Willis, Profesor Perez, we are grateful to have you here.” 

Draco assumed that the first woman was Willis, and the second Perez, who had light orange hair and pale skin. Unlike Willis, everything about her was soft and gentle. 

“I’m going to take a wild guess here, out in random,” Draco whispered to Harry, “and say that Willis is Arithmancy and Perez in Divination,” He said. 

“Sounds about right,” Harry replied, grinning a little.

“Our Divination students will be most pleased to have you, Professor Willis, and the same for our Arithmancy students, Professor Perez,” McGonagall said.

Harry shot Draco a surprised look, which Draco returned. 

“Thank you, Professor McGonalall. I trust that you will do a fabulous job as head mistress.” Willis said, a smile gracing her features.

“Thanks, I’m looking forward to it” Professor Perez said, “But please, call me Cleo.” McGonagall smiled at them. 

“Agreed. And I’m Jade,” Willis said.

“Minerva,” McGonagall replied. Draco grinned at Harry.

“Does this mean we can finally stop calling her Professor?” he asked, not missing the glare McGonagall shot them. Harry grinned. 

“I guess, but I don’t think I’ll ever get out of the habit,” Harry said next to him. He heard McGonagall sigh at the podium. 

“Please, take a seat,” she instructed Cleo and Jade, who nodded. 

They sat together, with Jade being on Draco’s left and Cleo on Jade’s right. They smiled at each other and talked quietly, waiting for students to begin filing in. 

Once they did, many students immediately caught Draco’s eye and glared. These were mainly older students, who witnessed what he had done. He looked down, and patiently listened to Jade talking mindlessly to him and Harry. 

And as more students entered, the more uncomfortable he became. Every eye was on him, everything he had done was plain, out in the open, out in the open, out in the open. 

And suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, his chest felt tight and he couldn’t suck in enough air, couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t breathe. 

He recognized, distantly, these symptoms because he’d had them before. He’d been here before. Here, where the only thing he could feel was this paralyzing panic and the crumbled rock and the spells and the screams. There was no territory, no consoling vision or saying or quote or prayer. 

He’d tried that once. Praying. 

Prayed on the top of the astronomy tower, prayed to whatever was out there that this  _ wasn't happening  _ and this  _ couldn’t be happening. _ Not to him and not to Dumbledore and not to the students. He prayed harder than ever before, on top of the astronomy tower, with only the sharp breeze and the force of decisions. There, with Voldemort's cruel words in the back of the mind and Dumbledore’s in the front. And his father, his father, his father, his father. 

He’d learned with Dan that everything practically centered around his father. All of his bad thoughts or bias or pessimism. Everything, all of the mixed feelings and pain and laughter, everything, everything, everything centered around him. 

He couldn’t breathe. He could feel his chest rising up and down, up and down, but his head was light and  _ he wasn’t getting air _ . 

He could feel Harry’s gaze on him, calculating and concerned, the stares and glares of the students, the silent question that had followed him everywhere. 

_ What is  _ he  _ doing here?  _

He didn’t even know. 

He couldn’t breathe.

He realized vaguely that his hands were shaking. Bad signs bad signs bad signs bad signs. 

What is he doing here? 

“Uhh, Draco?” Harry asked him. He turned towards the concerned face, everything going fuzzy and his vision tunneling. Bad signs bad signs bad signs. 

“Draco? Hey, are you okay?” Harry asked him, and oh God, holy Jesus Christ good fuck he didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know why he was here. Why was he here? He really shouldn’t be here, with Harry’s concerned face next to him and the endless stares in front of him. 

“Hey, stand up. Come on, you don’t want to have a panic attack in front of everyone, I’m sure. Almost positive. So come with me, I’ve got you,” he felt himself standing, felt someone lead him from the table to the back room behind the staff table. 

A panic attack? Is that what was happening?

There was noise, and then there was a silence, only the slight murmur of the voices hearabe from the other side of the door. 

“Woah, okay, explain what’s happening,” He heard Harry say in front of him. Was he on the floor? Yeah, that was definitely a hard carpet underneath him. 

And was that Harry? Yeah, that was definitely Harry, crouching in front of Draco. He shouldn’t be here, not here, to see Draco break down, not to see him cry or panic or suffocate. 

“Talk to me Draco, talk to me,” Harry’s panicked voice echoed at him, penetrating his foggy, panicked brain and making him think. 

The words started spilling out without his permission, mindless rambles and jumbles of words that no one, including him, could make out. Strings of emotions poured out from his mouth, he couldn’t control it, couldn’ even control his own fucking mind, couldn’t even control his own fucking body, he couldn’t control anything, he couldn’t control anything, he coulnd’t control anything. 

“Leave me the hell alone,” he found himself saying despite his own permission. 

_ Please fucking stay with me. _

“No.”

“I said leave me the FUCK ALONE,” Draco was a maniac, he was aware. He couldn’t stop the worlds tumbling out of his mouth, couldn’t control his mind, couldn’t even control his own fucking body, could’t control anything.

And then the room was silent.

And he was alone. 

**********

“Mr. Malfoy?” a small voice asked from behind him. He whirled around on the old stone path leading down to Hagrid’s hut, looking to see who was there. A tentative first year stared back at him, smiling half-heartedly and looking at Draco unlike any other student he’d met so far. Granted, he really had only met five previously, but that was irrelevant. 

“Please, call me Draco,” he said reflexively. When he thought of Mr. Malfoy, he thought of his father, who had left him, abandoned him, in ways even Draco never realized. His father, who had been the main manipulator, who had been his ultimate demise, the voice in his head that never fucking shut up. His father was a toxic piece of shit, even Dan said so. And he trusted Dan. 

But there was so much more he could remember, all the smiles and laughs countering the sharp slaps to his face and the harsh words and the cold room. Relationships were messy, a disaster of stab wounds and blood and tears and everything Draco didn’t need right now. 

But, back to the first year. 

“Draco? Okay,” the first year said, smiling a little more. 

“I’m kind of lost actually. I need to find the ravenclaw dormitories? And an eighth year said they were this way, but I think he’s lying. And then I saw you, so, um, could you help me?” the child’s eyes were big and brown and...scared? 

“Of course I can help you,” Draco said, going back up the hill with the first year in tow. “What’s your name?” he asked, kind of quietly, nerves racking his body for reasons unknown to him. 

“My name is Mia,” she said, her long brown hair flowing in the slight wind. 

“Alright Mia. Is this your first experience with magic?” He said, looking at her tentative stance and curious posture. 

“Yep,” she said, voice shaking a little. “I’m muggle born. My mum is a… an… accountant, and my dad works at Sephora. They didn’t really believe the whole magic thing at first, so professor McGonagall had to come over to my house over the summer,” she explained rapidly, her voice wavering slightly. 

“What about your parents?” she asked. Draco let out a puff of breath, wondering how he should explain this. 

“My, um, my dad, he worked for the ministry of magic and as a governor for Hogwarts. My mum didn’t work. But Mia, they were both very bad people. You’ve heard of Voldemort?” the word still sounded unfamiliar on his tongue, his mouth suddenly filled with cotton. She shook her head hastily. 

“Well, he was a very, very bad man, and had an idea to ‘purify’ the wizarding race. He wanted to wipe out all muggle borns, like you, so they couldn’t perform magic or be affiliated with the wizarding community.” he shivered. A year ago, the word ‘mudblood’ would have spilled easily off of his tongue and he would have been proud to say the words he just did. 

Draco felt his stomach rising in his throat and the sudden urge to vomit. he pushed the urge down, pushed down all of the stereotypes he had subconsciously associates with muggle borns, and looked at this girl with unbiased eyes, because she could do anything, be anything she wanted to be, and he had no right to judge her based on her parents. After all, McGonagall didn’t judge him based on his. He shouldn’t treat any other student differently. 

“Well, he collected a group of supporters called death eaters. My parents were some of those people, and manipulated me into becoming one, too. They were very, very bad people,” Draco repeated the words, wanting to believe them, wanting to believe them. A year ago, he would have refused those words, refuted them so strongly it made him want to throw up. A year ago, he would not be having this conversation, would have called himself insane. He became the very thing he was afraid to become, but fuck, didn’t it feel good to defy his own epectations? To defy his own bias and tell himself to fuck off, to tell the ignorent side of him to leave him alone?

“Oh,” she said, taking in his words and taking him out of his reverie. 

“Is that why people were looking at you funny?” she asked, and he nodded silently. 

“Okay good, because I told those people to shut the hell up,” she said, tone changing to a more determined one. 

There were tears in his eyes. He smiled at her as they walked through the corridors of Hogwarts. And then, and then they were in front of the dorms, and then he was waving and she was waving back, and then he was alone. 

**********

His first class was, in his personal opinion, an absolute fucking disaster. For starters, he was teaching sixth years, who knew exactly what he did and despised him for it. At least a solid third of the room glared at him the entire time, some whispering even when he was looking at them. 

Afterwards, he sat in the empty classroom, alone.

**********

“Draco!” someone said behind him. He turned around, and there, there, there, was Harry Potter. And really, this was why he hated him with a burning passion, and really, really, really, why did Harry have to walk in now, out of all the times and places and everything, everything, everything, and draco really didn’t know what he was doing, really didn’t know what he was doing, really didn’t know what he was doing. 

Fuck him. Of course he had to walk in now, all high and mighty and everything Draco did not need. Of course his class went great, fucking amazing, and Draco was over here, breathing getting short already, feeling himiliated. 

“Hey Harry,” he bit out, trying his best to sound casual and not at all like he was about to fall apart. 

“Hey. I wanted to see how you were doing, you know, after the opening day and all,” and fuck, Harry really didn’t know what it was like, did he? To be torn apart and put back together by eyes who would never know, who never knew the terror, the pressure, the stress. Fuck them, fuck them all. They would never listen to him, no matter how hard he tried to be good anyway, so why be good? Why not just give them what they wanted? 

No, wait. Old Draco, the Draco in the midst of his father was talking. The Draco who wanted nothing more than to please the very man who had destroyed him, who wanted nothing more than to scream and cry and walk away and never, ever look back. Old Draco was the one talking, his father was the one talking. 

And really, really, really, relationships were messy and confusing and everything Draco didn’t want. And he knew, he knew, he knew, that this was an opportunity that was rare, to rebuild something from the ashes of something else, to take the bad and make it good. And he could see all of the glares harry had ever shot him, could see him sneer and see his lips moving. But that same Harry was also standing right in front of him, concerned about him, and waiting for Draco to make a move and unknowingly giving him an opportunity. 

To rebuild everything from the ashes of what once was. To make things  _ good _ again. 

And he could see all of the laughs and smiles that he could have with Harry, the potential energy sitting in his chest, and he knew, he knew, he knew, he could be happy. 

He stood, looked at the famous Harry Potter, who he despised for forever but refused to do so any more. 

He looked at  _ that _ Harry Potter,  _ his _ Harry Potter, and he smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> well that's it folks. hope y'all enjoyed. 
> 
> please please please please review! even if you did not enjoy it, i want to improve. so go ahead and yell at me because you no longer ship draco cuz my fic is trash. i wanna hear.
> 
> see y'all later fam. I may add to this later, because BOY was that ending abrupt.


End file.
